


More Like Your Ghost

by SomeBratInAMask



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-30
Updated: 2016-07-30
Packaged: 2018-07-27 15:23:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7623934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomeBratInAMask/pseuds/SomeBratInAMask
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jason hums, amused. This is what Jason would’ve been: brainwashed. "There's a lot more souls than you think. But no need to fret. I don't plan to drag innocents into my own crusade. Unlike you, I've learned from the Bat's mistakes."</p><p>Jason half-expects Nightwing to say <i>like you?</i> but he doesn't. That's Jason's voice in his head.</p>
            </blockquote>





	More Like Your Ghost

Nightwing drops down onto the roof Jason's on. The first thing Jason registers are the elegant angles of his face and the unruly dark hair dripping into his masked eyes. The second thing he registers is the flare of hatred at those blue wings spanning his chest. Jason knows him with a heat that begs to lash out.

"Red Hood," Nightwing greets, as if that’s all he has to say to him. As if Nightwing didn’t know Jason was here and this is a surprise.

Jason flicks out his switchblade and begins to play with it. He knows it's not threatening, that of all the weapons in Gotham, Nightwing is among the finest. So a switchblade isn’t threatening, but Jason thinks it gets the threat across. The thought that counts, and other _Hallmark_ -esque slogans he remembers Nightwing touting.

Jason grins wide beneath his helmet. "Ah, the pretty, perfect Dick Grayson. Nice new tights you got there." He cocks his head. "Whatever happened to your sparkles, though?"

Nightwing smirks. "They fell off."

"And the mullet?"

"Chopped off. Via sword."

Jason makes a low whistle. "Dramatic. Couldn't ask for a better death. Well, I could, actually. I've never been killed with a sword. I wonder if it's any good."

"Funny," Nightwing says, not meaning it.

"I'm amazed you're running around in Gotham. I heard you had scampered off to Bludhaven to _become your own man."_ Jason mentions the last part with a sarcastic shimmy.

Nightwing's posture is tentative. Jason wonders if he's eyeing the blade behind those white lenses. "That wasn't — _quite_ my motivation," he disagrees.

"Wasn't it?"

Nightwing purses his lips briefly. "Maybe it was a little," he admits after some pause.

Jason spreads his arms theatrically. "But you're back in the Bat's shadow, I see. Couldn't stay away from daddy's coattails for long, could ya'?"

"He needed help." There's a hint of aggravation in his tone. Good.

Jason strides forward, inserting slow swagger into each step. "You'll never be him, you know that, right? You're never going to be Batman. Even when he keels off, it won't be you."

Nightwing isn't crossing his arms, but Jason picks up on the minute tension in his shoulders regardless. "And why not?" he asks. "I've been trained by him. Longer than you have. I share his values. You don't." He extends his arms, gesturing around them as if Jason's mistakes might lie by their feet. "From where I'm standing, it looks like I'm the closest to Batman it gets."

"Sorry," Jason chirps, not sorry at all. "Not happening."

They're right in front of each other now. Nightwing tilts his chin up, defensive. "I’d make a great Batman."

Jason taps his blade against Nightwing's chest. "Oh, baby," he says, "you're not fucked up enough."

Nightwing's mouth opens, then shuts, opens again. "I'll take that as a compliment," he replies.

In a way, it _is_ a compliment. Who doesn't want to be normal? "You should," Jason grants.

"You didn't mean it as a compliment," Nightwing points out.

He didn't. It's hard for Jason to want normal. He's never had it. "You should still take it as one. Being Batman would be the worst decision of your life."

Nightwing appears about to protest, so Jason holds up a finger. "Think about it. You spend forever trying to be someone else, someone better, only to realize you're lying to yourself about wanting freedom because, one night, Alfred calls you and says Gotham is Bat-less. Before you know it, your nose is lodged all the way up Bruce's ass and you've got a little black cape to prove it," he finishes.

Nightwing's jaw clenches. Jason has officially hit a nerve. There’s a wave of pride at that. He intends to leave on that note, since Nightwing doesn't immediately answer. He’s a couple steps away when Nightwing pipes up.

"You know, for someone so _anti-Batman,_ you're kind of obsessed with perfecting him."

Jason shakes his head. "You're missing the details, dickiebird. Everything's in the _details."_

Nightwing crosses his arms and gives a withering expression. "Illuminate me."

Jason jabs his blade in Nightwing's direction. _"You_ want to be Batman for Bruce. You're honor-bound to the _man."_ Jason points the blade at himself. _"I_ want to be Batman for the _symbol._ Batman doesn't mean anything to me, but he's something to the people he's failed to protect."

"So, what?" Nightwing opens his palm. "You're going to claim none of this is personal?"

"Oh, it's personal. But it won't be once the old man is bleeding out on the floor and I'm wearing cute bat ears on my head."

"Don't even try," snaps Nightwing. "There's not a single soul who'd take your side. Myself included."

Jason hums, amused. This is what Jason would’ve been: brainwashed. "There's a lot more souls than you think. But no need to fret. I don't plan to drag innocents into my _own_ crusade. Unlike you, I've learned from the Bat's mistakes."

Jason half-expects Nightwing to say _like you?_ but he doesn't. That's Jason's voice in his head.

Instead, Nightwing offers, "You have no idea how much I cried for you, do you? How much any of us mourned? How much _pain_ we've gone through, the in-fighting, the nightmares — "

"Spare me," Jason cuts short. "I can't tell if you're guilting me, or if you're really about to cry under all that mask. Either way, I'm not interested. You cried for Jason, Boy Wonder? Don't worry, your tears weren't wasted. He's been preserved six feet under."

"How can you say that?"

Jason shrugs. "It's true." He turns away. As he passes, Nightwing grabs his wrist. It's not forceful. The touch is barely there. Jason is holding himself in place, truthfully. For a moment, Dick’s hand is gentle enough that Jason doesn't instantly shake him off. Dick’s fingers slip beneath his jacket sleeve and find that inch of bare skin not covered by gloves. Jason breathes in. All he can think is _he’s dead._

Jason doesn’t snatch his arm back. There’s no need; Dick isn’t holding on tight. He just keeps walking, letting the touch fall. He fades from Dick’s grasp like a ghost, and Dick lets him. Jason doesn’t linger on Bruce's face in his head, doesn't linger on the first person who merely watched him go. He just leaves.


End file.
